LINCOLN  ROOM 

UNIVERSITY  OF  ILLINOIS 
LIBRARY 


MEMORIAL 

the  Class  of  1901 

founded  by 

HARLAN  HOYT  HORNER 

and 

HENRIETTA  CALHOUN  HORNER 


/ 


Abralyam  ICtnraln 

Alt  Kpptnmtuxn 


BENJAMIN  RUSH  COWEN 

BREVET  BRIGADIER  GENERAL 

Paymaster  U.  S.  Army  1861-4; 
Adjutant   General  of   Ohio 
1864-8;  Assistant  Secre- 
tary of  the  Interior 
1871-6. 


C 


CINCINNATI 

THE  ROBERT  CLARKE  CO. 

1909 


Copyright,   1909 
By  benjamin  SPRAGUE  COWEN 


Preface 


BENJAMIN  RUSH  COWEN  was  born  at 
Moorfield,  Ohio,  August  15,  1831,  and  died 
at  Cincinnati,  January  29,  1908.  During  his  long 
life  he  served  his  country  as  a  legislative  officer, 
as  Adjutant-General  of  Ohio  during  the  trying  Civil 
War  period,  as  Assistant  Secretary  of  the  Interior  under 
President  Grant  and  as  Clerk  of  the  Federal  Courts 
for  Southern  Ohio;  at  intervals  engaging  in  general 
business,  in  banking  and  in  editorial  and  literary 
labors. 

With  a  classical  education  and  practical  training, 
and  a  natural  aptitude  as  a  writer  he  ranked  with  the 
strongest  editors  of  his  time,  and  the  clearness  of  dic- 
tion and  underlying  sound  sense  in  what  he  wrote 
gave   particular   value   to   his   various   papers   on   the 


historical  characters  and  incidents  with  which  he  had 
been  connected.  He  refused  to  allow  these  papers 
to  be  printed  until  after  his  death,  giving  them  to  one 
of  his  sons  some  months  before  that  sad  event  with  the 
brief  remark: 

"After  I  am  gone  I  want  you  to  make  such  disposition 
of  these  as  you  see  fit." 

In  accordance  with  that  injunction,  the  Address  on 
Lincoln  is  now  given  publicity,  the  Centenary  of  the 
First  American  making  it  inadvisable  to  hold  it  until 
arrangements  can  be  perfected  for  the  publication 
of   his    other    manuscripts. 

B.    S.    CowEN. 
Cincinnati,  January  29,   1909. 


Abraham   Lincoln 

An  instructed  Democracy  in  which  there  is  absolute 
freedom  of  initiative,  of  privilege  and  of  opportunity 
is  never  at  a  loss  for  heroes  of  its  own  to  applaud 
and  emulate  and  honor.  The  history  of  this  Nation 
is  luminous  with  the  names  of  those  who,  in  war  and 
peace,  in  public  and  in  private  life,  in  field,  in  forum 
and  in  factory,  have  borne  its  banners  to  victory  in 
every  step  of  its  wonderful  progress. 

Most  prominent  of  the  long  line  of  those  whom 
we  delight  to  honor,  and  one  who  stands  out  as  a 
great  personal  and  historical  promontory,  marking 
the  most  important  era  in  that  progress,  is  that  homely 
sage  and  hero  of  the  backwoods,  who,  crownless 
and  unheralded,  came  from  his  retirement  and  in  a 
few  direct  but  pregnant  sentences;  a  silence  that 
was  golden  and  a  speech  that  was  silvern;  by  masterly 

[5] 


action  and  masterly  inaction,  won  the  confidence  of 
the  people  as  he  moved  unscathed  through  the  thrice 
heated  furnace  of  Civil  War. 

It  is  a  trite  saying  that  ''circumstances  make  the 
man",  but  if  they  made  Abraham  Lincoln,  it  was 
circumstances  that  influenced  him  before  he  was 
known  to  the  world.  It  was  the  privation  and  the 
self-denial  of  his  fifty  formative  years  which  molded 
and  fixed  his  character  so  firmly  and  so  well,  that  he 
was  able,  in  the  fulness  of  time,  to  impress  that  character 
on  his  surroundings  in  the  last  four  years  of  his  life 
to  a  greater  extent  than  any  of  his  predecessors  had 
done,  or  than  any  of  us  were  able  to  realize  until 
his  work  was  completed. 

With  none  of  the  factitious  advantages  which  his 
predecessors  had  enjoyed,  but  with  every  conceivable 
drawback  and  embarrassment,  as  the  world  judges 
such  things,  Lincoln  seemed  to  vault,  as  it  were,  at 
a  single  bound  into  the  front  rank  of  statesmen  and 
rulers.  For  such  an  hour  he  proved  the  man  of  des- 
tiny. 

Men  marvelled  at  this  and  resented  it,  for  a  time, 

[6] 


as  a  violation  of  all  the  traditions.  They  wondered 
whence  he  had  his  wisdom,  his  rare  poise  of  character, 
his  accurate  judgment,  his  consummate  leadership, 
his  mastery  of  words,  and  it  is  only  since  his  death 
that  the  story  of  his  training  and  development  has 
revealed  the  secret.  His  whole  life,  as  we  now  know 
it,  seemed  a  preparation  for  the  great  emergency 
of  liberty,  and  afforded  that  training  of  adversity 
which   tempers   men   for   any  hazard. 

Reared  amid  surroundings  so  humble  and  obscure 
that  they  would  seem  sufficient  to  crush  out  all  manly 
ambition,  or  possibihty  of  advancement;  until  long 
after  his  majority  subject  to  the  most  grinding  poverty; 
in  a  community  where  wealth  and  creature  comforts 
as  We  know  them  were  unknown — the  poorest; 
awkward,  uncouth,  and  ungainly  in  person  to  the  ex- 
tent of  inviting  ridicule  even  after  he  became  President; 
without  any  of  the  arts  and  blandishments  deemed 
essential  to  popular  acclaim  or  political  preferment; 
uneducated  so  far  as  schools  educate;  without  intel- 
lectual ancestry  or  pride  of  birth,  he  burst  upon  the  coun- 
try at  the  most  critical  period  in  our  history,  mature  in 

[7] 


years,  ripe  in  judgment  and  of  such  rare  mental  en- 
dowment and  such  inherent  and  genuine  manhood  as 
drew  the  most  distinguished  and  cultured  men  of  the 
the  country  to  his  support. 

What  was  the  secret  of  his  development  ? 

More  than  any  other  man,  Mr.  Lincoln  illustrated 
the  operation  of  those  peculiar  forces  which  gave 
to  the  West  such  masterful  influence  in  public  affairs. 
He  was  of  the  West  western;  he  hved  his  life  on  the 
frontier;  its  growth  was  his  growth;  its  life  his  life, 
and  yet  when  he  came  from  his  obscurity  and  entered 
into  the  great  national  arena  he  understood  the  older 
East  far  better  than  the  East  understood  him  or  his 
people.  In  fact  he  seemed  at  times  to  understand 
the  East  better  than  the  East  understood  itself. 

The  West  of  Mr.  Lincoln's  lifetime  was  intensely 
poUtical  and  it  felt,  in  a  pecuhar  sense,  the  pulse 
of  the  Nation's  life  throbbing  in  the  great  artery  of 
emigration  that  stretched  athwart  the  continent.  In 
no  sense  was  it  separate  from  the  East,  because  it 
was  constantly  receiving  fresh  members  from  thence 
and  with  all  such  accessions  came  the  fresh  influence 

[8] 


of  suggestion  and  the  impulse  of  assimilation.  These 
forces  he  utiUzed  to  the  full,  so  that  few  men  of  any 
time  excelled  him  in  the  capacity  of  understanding 
whatever  he  had  in  hand,  and  to  study  that  quahty 
in  him  is  to  study  the  forces  which  shaped  the  national 
life  of  that  period. 

While  it  is  true  that  he  never  laid  aside  the  appearance 
of  the  rough  and  brawny  frontiersman,  yet  he  never 
ceased  to  grow  in  all  the  quaUties  that  enter  into  the 
strength  and  dignity  of  real  greatness.  With  the 
shrewd  and  seeing  eye  of  the  woodsman,  than  which 
none  is  shrewder  or  more  observant,  his  view  readily 
adjusted  itself  to  see  and  give  due  weight  to  greater 
things,  under  whatever  aspect  they  were  presented. 

He  constantly  mixed  with  all  sorts  and  conditions 
of  men  from  every  section  of  the  country  and  the 
w^orld,  discussing  the  poUcies  of  the  State  and  the 
Nation,  so  that  his  mind  became  traveled,  enlightened, 
and  trained,  in  spite  of  the  apparent  narrowness  and 
sordidness  of  his  environment. 

His  debate  with  Douglas  in  1858  first  brought 
him  to  the  attention  of  the  people  outside  of  his  State, 

[9] 


as  much,  perhaps,  at  the  first,  because  of  the  prestige 
of  his  opponent  as  from  the  character  of  his  speeches. 
The  country  accepted  his  talent  on  sight,  largely 
because  of  his  ability  to  hold  his  own  in  debate  with 
the   recognized   leader  of  the   United    States    Senate. 

Cincinnati  has  an  interesting,  though  somewhat 
remote  connection  with  the  Lincoln-Douglas  debate, 
though  I  mention  it  more  to  illustrate  Mr.  Lincoln's 
remarkable  magnanimity  even  before  he  came  upon 
the  wider  arena  where  he  won  immortality. 

In  1857  he  was  associated  with  Mr.  Edwin  M. 
Stanton,  then  a  citizen  of  Pittsburg,  and  Mr.  George 
Harding,  a  citizen  of  Philadelphia,  in  a  celebrated 
patent  cause  involving  the  validity  of  the  McCormick 
reaper  patents.  Both  Stanton  and  Harding  were 
recognized  as  great  leaders  in  the  practice  of  patent 
law.  The  cause  was  one  involving  millions  of  dollars, 
and  came  on  for  argument  in  the  United  States  Circuit 
Court  in  this  city,  with  Lincoln,  Stanton  and  Harding 
present  as  counsel  for  McCormick. 

Mr.  Lincoln  had  prepared  an  elaborate  brief  and  all 
the   attorneys   came   prepared    for   a   battle   royal    by 

[10] 


reason  of  the  large  interests  at  stake.  Neither  Stanton 
nor  Harding  had  ever  seen  Lincoln  until  they  met  on 
that  occasion,  and  had  probably  never  heard  of  him 
as  a  practitioner  of  patent  law.  His  appearance  was 
not  such  as  to  recommend  him  to  a  fastidious  eastern 
lawyer,  who  was  always  especially  careful  of  his 
personal  appearance.  He  wore  a  long,  loose  and  some- 
what soiled  linen  duster  and  his  appearance  and  man- 
ners were  uninviting.  Both  of  his  colleagues  snubbed 
him,  refused  to  consult  with  him  or  to  associate  with 
him  while  here,  and  openly  derided  and  insulted  him. 
When  the  cause  was  called  for  argument  Mr.  Lincoln 
was  at  his  post,  notwithstanding  the  treatment  of  his 
colleagues,  who  still  persistently  refused  to  recognize 
him  as  of  counsel.  The  several  machines  were  on  exhi- 
bition, as  is  usual  in  such  cases,  when  Mr.  Lincoln  took 
hold  of  the  tongue  of  one  of  them  and  began  pushing 
it  back  and  forth  to  exhibit  its  action,  saying  as 
he  did  so,  "I  guess  I  can  do  this  part  of  the  work  as 
well  as  any  of  you."  Thereupon  Stanton  took  hold 
of  Lincoln's  coat  tails  and  rudely  jerked  him  aside, 
telling  him  to  get  out  of  the  way. 

[II] 


This  so  mortified  Mr.  Lincoln  that  he  retired  from 
the  court  room,  sent  his  brief  to  Stanton  and  left  for 
home  without  taking  part  in  the  argument.  Stanton 
returned    the    brief    unopened. 

After  the  trial  was  over  Mr.  McCormick  sent  Lin- 
coln a  check  for  ^3000,  which  the  latter  returned,  say- 
ing he  had  earned  nothing  in  the  case.  McCormick 
sent  the  check  again,  saying  that  he  was  the  best 
judge  of  the  value  of  Lincoln's  services.  Lincoln 
then  retained  the  fee  and  it  was  with  that  money  he 
was  able  to  meet  the  expenses  of  his  debate  with 
Douglas. 

Notwithstanding  the  humiliation  and  insult  Mr. 
Lincoln  could  recognize  talent  under  any  circum- 
stances, and,  when  he  became  President,  four  years 
later,  he  offered  Mr.  Harding  the  Commissionership 
of  Patents,  which  was  declined,  and  he  appointed  Mr. 
Stanton  Secretary  of  War,  an  example  of  magnanim- 
ity without  a  parallel  in  the  history  of  our  politics. 

In  telling  me  the  incident  a  year  or  two  since,  Mr. 
Harding  said  that  when  Lincoln  sent  for  him  to  come 
to  Washington  in  March,  1861,  before  calling   at  the 

[12] 


White  House  he  called  on  Stanton,  at  his  residence  in 
Washington.  This  was  some  months  before  the  latter 
became  Secretary  of  War.  He  found  Stanton  on  the 
croquet  ground  and  as  he  approached  him,  Stanton's 
greeting  was:  "By  the  way,  Harding,  I  have  found 
out  that  there  is  a  great  deal  more  in  that  man  Lincoln 
than  we  thought  when  we  met  him  in  Cincinnati." 
His  visit  to  New  York  soon  after  the  Lincoln- 
Douglas  debate,  which  grew  out  of  the  reputation 
acquired  therein,  and  his  speech  in  Cooper  Insti- 
tute in  February,  i860,  may  be  regarded  as  his  first 
appearance  in  the  National  political  arena.  That 
speech  was  a  revelation  to  the  people  of  the  East,  who 
had  been  accustomed  to  look  upon  the  great  West  of 
that  day  much  as  the  Jews  of  old  looked  upon  GaHlee 
—  whence  no  good  thing  could  come.  He  stormed  the 
citadel  of  their  pride  of  culture,  struck  the  keynote 
of  the  campaign  of  i860,  and  at  the  conclusion  of 
that  speech  found  himself  an  important  factor  in  an 
important  era  in  national  affairs.  That  speech  was 
the  most  accurate  and  impartial  epitome  of  the  his- 
tory of  the  slave  power  in  this  country  that  had   ever 

[13] 


appeared,  setting  it  forth  with  such  clearness,  coher- 
ence and  power  that  it  became  the  reliable  and  irref- 
utable textbook  for  future  campaigns. 

The  closing  words  of  his  first  inaugural  address, 
to  which  nothing  in  our  literature  of  plaintive  en- 
treaty is  comparable,  may  be  taken  as  a  sample  of  his 
literary  style  at  the  opening  of  his  official  career: 

"Though  passion  may  have  strained  it  must  not 
break  our  bonds  of  affection.  The  mystic  chords 
of  memory  stretching  from  every  patriot  grave  to  every 
loving  heart  and  hearthstone  all  over  this  broad  land 
will  yet  swell  the  chorus  of  the  Union  when  again 
touched,  as  they  surely  will  be  by  the  better  angels 
of  our    nature." 

His  Gettysburg  oration,  really  an  impromptu  ef- 
fort, and  a  later  production,  was  the  envy  of  Edward 
Everett  who  was  a  recognized  master  of  verbal  expres- 
sion and  saw  in  Mr.  Lincoln's  speech  a  nation's  classic. 

The  Westminster  Review  said  that  utterance  of 
Lincoln  excelled  the  oration  of  Pericles  over  the  dead 
of  the  first  year  of  the  Peloponnesian  War  by  as  much 
as   Nature    takes    precedence   of  Art. 

[14] 


It  has  been  suggested  that  Mr.  Lincoln  might,  with 
great  propriety,  be  called  as  a  witness  for  Shakespeare 
against  those  criticasters  who  deny  him  the  author- 
ship of  the  plays  which  bear  his  name,  for  the  sole  rea- 
son that  they  cannot  imagine  it  possible  to  produce 
such  results  unaided  by  books  and  schools  and  colleges. 
If  these  men  could  show  similar  results  through  such 
helps  they  may  then  have  one  fact  tending  to  prove 
that  such  results  cannot  be  reached  without  such 
helps.  But  in  the  absence  of  proof  I  must  accept 
both  Lincoln  and  Shakespeare  and  confess  ignor- 
ance of  the  methods  by  which  they  became  so  great. 

That  oration  shows  with  striking  force  the  power 
of  the  monosyllable  in  composition  when  deftly  handled. 
Out  of  a  total  of  two  hundred  and  ninety-eight  words 
in  the  oration,  one  hundred  and  ninety-five  are  words 
of  one  syllable. 

Not  alone  in  his  messages  and  formal  State  papers 
do  those  beautiful  and  forcible  examples  of  rhetoric 
appear,  but  in  his  private  letters  as  well.  Here,  for  ex- 
ample, is  an  extract  from  one  of  his  letters,  evidently 


[15] 


written  in  haste,  but  which  must  live  while  the  memory 
of   our    Civil    War    endures: 

"When  peace  with  victory  comes  there  will  be  some 
black  men  who  will  remember  that  with  silent  tonsue 
and  clenched  teeth  and  steady  eye  and  well  poised 
bayonet  they  have  helped  on  mankind  to  this  great  con- 
summation. While  I  fear  there  will  be  some  white  men 
unable  to  forget  that  with  malignant  heart  and  deceit- 
ful speech  they  have  striven  to  hinder  and  prevent  it." 

There  are  many  quotable  phrases  in  his  writings. 
I  noticed  at  an  anti-expansion  meeting  at  the  Odeon 
a  while  ago,  this  sentiment  from  Mr.  Lincoln  was  made 
to  do  duty  as  a  motto  for  the  occasion:  "No  man  is 
good  enough  to  govern  another  without  that  other's 
consent."  That  sounds  very  fine  as  an  abstract  prop- 
osition, yet  the  little  Americans  who  figured  at  that 
meeting  forgot  that  Mr.  Lincoln's  title  to  fame  rests 
chiefly  on  the  fact  that  he  compelled  the  people  of 
sixteen  states  to  submit  to  a  government  they  had  re- 
pudiated   and    foresworn. 

With  none  of  the  bold,  impassionate  eloquence  of 
Phillips,  or  the  ripe  thought  of  Evarts,  or  the  ornate 

[i6] 


rhetoric  of  Ingersoll,  Lincoln  was  the  superior  of  them 
all  in  clear,  logical  statement  of  issues  and  of  the  prin- 
ciples by  which  those  issues  were  defended  and  main- 
tained. Another  great  secret  of  his  power  was  the  pos- 
session of  that  deep,  great,  genuine  sincerity  which  Car- 
lyle  said  was  the  first  characteristic  of  all  men  in  any 
way    heroic. 

Careful  study  of  his  speeches  reveals  an  unusual 
charm  of  statement,  an  unanswerable  style  of  reason- 
ing, forcible  illustrations  in  which  romance  and  logic, 
fun  and  pathos  were  singularly  combined. 

I  first  heard  the  name  of  Abraham  Lincoln  used  in 
a  public  meeting  at  the  Philadelphia  National  Repub- 
lican Convention  in  1856,  which  was  two  years  before 
his  debate  with  Douglas.  An  enthusiastic  Illinois  dele- 
gate incidentally  referred  to  him  in  that  convention  as 
a  possible  candidate  for  President  in  i860.  But  the 
name  had  no  conjuring  power  and  fell  upon  unheeding 
ears,  which  heard  it  for  the  first  time.  Yet  we  now 
know  that  Mr.  Lincoln  was  even  then  a  well  known  and 
acknowledged  leader  of  his  party  in  his  own  state.  But 
Illinois,  fifty  years  ago,  was  far  less  familiar  to  Eastern 

[17] 


people  and  even  to  those  of  Ohio,  than  the  new  and  dis- 
tant state  of  Washington  is  to-day. 

The  speaker,  observing  with  evident  surprise  that  the 
name  of  Lincoln  elicited  no  response  from  the  Conven- 
tion,   said    in    prophetic    words: 

"You  do  not  seem  to  know  who  Abraham  Lincoln  is, 
but  we  in  Illinois  know  him,  and  the  day  is  coming 
when  you  and  the  whole  country  will  know  him." 

Later  in  the  Convention,  however,  Mr.  Lincoln  re- 
ceived one  hundred  and  ten  votes  for  Vice-President. 
Fortunately,  perhaps,  he  was  not  nominated. 

With  characteristic  zeal  and  courage  Mr.  Lincoln 
early  championed  the  cause  of  freedom,  and  careless 
of  the  obloquy  v/hich  that  position  invoked  in  the  com- 
munity and  the  state  in  which  he  lived,  he  put  all  thought 
of  immediate  promotion  behind  him  and  boldly  chal- 
lenged the  right  of  the  slaveholder  to  invade  the  terri- 
tories with  his  peculiar  institution,  saying  that  he 
would  rather  fail  on  that  platform  than  succeed  on 
any  other.  He  was  a  splendid  example  of  a  politician 
of  absolute  intellectual  honesty,  indulging  in  no  am- 
biguous   terms,    making   no    mental    reservations,  but 

[i8] 


daring  to  think  freely  and  to  speak  and  act  openly. 
In  his  campaigns  he  scattered  pearls  of  prophecy 
before  the  swinish  herd  which  would  have  turned  and 
rent  him  had  he  been  less  able  and  determined.  He 
told  them  that  this  nation  could  not  exist  half  slave 
and  half  free,  but,  Cassandra  like,  his  prophecies  were 
always  discredited  and  ridiculed  until  they  became  his- 
tory, when  his  wisdom  was  acknowledged. 

He  battled  manfully  for  the  election  of  Fremont 
in  1856,  but  not  with  hope  of  success,  for  no  man  knew 
better  than  he  the  resources  of  the  opposition  and  the 
tremendous  power  of  a  hostile  public  sentiment.  But 
he  fought  for  the  future,  confident  that  the  new  party 
must  win  sooner  or  later  because  its  cause  was  just, 
and  he  became  the  recognized  leader  of  his  party  in 
Illinois  on  its  organization  and  was  its  idol  while  he 
lived. 

The  events  following  the  election  of  Mr.  Buchanan; 
his  pitiful,  criminal  weakness;  the  growing  arrogance 
of  the  slave  power;  the  overt  and  monstrous  treason  of 
Buchanan's  cabinet  ojflficers;  the  rapid  increase  of  the 
new  party;  the  growing  unrest  of  the  South;  the  threats 

[19] 


of  secession;  the  exceptional  bitterness  of  the  campaign 
of  i860;  the  nomination  and  election  of  Mr.  Lincoln; 
the  secession  of  seven  states  before  his  inauguration 
and  before  he  had  an  opportunity  officially  to  define 
his  attitude  toward  the  South  are  matters  of  familiar 
history  with  which  it  is  not  my  purpose  to  deal,  and  I 
come  to  mention  the  first  time  I  saw  Mr.  Lincoln. 

It  was  in  February,  1861,  while  he  was  on  his  way 
to  Washington  to  his  inauguration.  I  was  chief  clerk 
of  the  Ohio  House  of  Representatives,  and  Mr.  Lincoln 
was  received  by  both  houses  of  the  General  Assembly 
in  joint  session  in  the  hall  of  the  house.  The  Legis- 
lature of  that  year  was  a  memorable  body,  not  only 
because  of  the  important  questions  it  had  to  deal  with, 
and  did  deal  with  wisely  and  promptly,  but  because  it 
contained  many  men  who  had  a  large  part  in  making 
the  history  of  the  next  two  decades.  (Among  its  mem- 
bers were  one  who  became  President,  one  who  became 
Governor,  one  who  became  a  Justice  of  the  United 
States  Supreme  Court,  two  who  became  cabinet  officers, 
eighteen  who  during  the  war  became  general  officers, 
or  colonels,    and  a  number  of  officers  of  lesser  grade, 

[20] 


one  who  was  elected  United  States  Senator,  and  fourteen 
who  became  members  of  Congress.) 

Mr.  Lincoln  came  directly  from  the  train  to  the  hall 
of  the  house,  passed  up  the  center  aisle  and  stood  fac- 
ing the  Speaker's  desk,  within  three  feet  of  where  I 
stood,  while  the  presiding  officer  made  the  address  of 
welcome.  He  was  so  tall  that,  standing  on  the  floor, 
as  he  did,  his  eyes  seemed  on  a  level  with  mine  as  I 
stood  on  the  raised  platform  of  the  clerk's  desk. 

He  was  a  singular  looking  personage.  His  appear- 
ance at  first  glance  was  decidedly  unprepossessing. 
Personal  peculiarities  are  generally  forgotten  on  a  more 
intimate  acquaintance,  provided  that  acquaintance  be 
favorable,  but  at  first  sight  they  largely  control  our  es- 
timate of  men.  Mr.  Lincoln  was  being  judged  by  out- 
ward appearance  only,  which  is  often  a  very  poor  stand- 
ard.    It  certainly  was  in  this  case  to  an  unusual  degree. 

Tall,  brawny  and  angular  in  frame,  with  prominent, 
rugged  and  unintellectual  features,  gaunt  cheeks  ren- 
dered more  marked  by  his  evident  fatigue  of  travel, 
in  a  suit  of  ill  fitting  clothes,  he  looked  anything  but  a 
statesman  or  a  President.     His  response  to  the  address 

[21] 


of  welcome  was  commonplace  and  was  a  disappoint- 
ment to  his  friends,  a  subject  of  ridicule  to  his  oppo- 
nents. His  voice  was  quaint  and  high  pitched,  though 
not  unpleasant,  and  he  seemed  studiously  to  avoid 
saying  anything  that  could  by  any  possibility  be 
misconstrued.  On  the  whole,  the  impression  he  made 
was  unfavorable.  Democrats  derided  him  while  Repub- 
licans were  silent  or  apologized  for  him  in  a  half-hearted 
way. 

In  the  evening  of  the  day  of  his  public  reception  by 
the  General  Assembly,  the  late  Governor  Dennison, 
to  whose  election,  in  1859,  ^^-  Lincoln  had  contrib- 
uted by  two  memorable  speeches,  one  at  Cincinnati, 
and  one  at  Columbus,  gave  a  reception  to  Mr.  Lincoln 
at  his  residence,  which  was  largely  attended. 

There  he  appeared  to  much  better  advantage 
and  made  an  excellent  impression.  The  travel  stains 
were  removed  and  a  rest  had  evidently  refreshed  him. 
There  was  a  singular  charm  in  his  manner,  despite  his 
ungainly  person,  which  was  a  real  attraction.  His  voice 
was  peculiar,  his  speech  quaint  and  homely,  and  his 
manner  and  bearing,  though  awkward  according  to  the 

[22] 


tenets  of  fashion,  was  unaffected,  easy  and  natural. 
The  center  of  observation  in  a  crowd  of  keen-eyed 
strangers,  he  was  totally  unembarrassed,  and  had  a 
pleasant  word  for  all.  What  he  said,  and  the  way  he 
said  it,  conveyed  an  unexpected  charm  which  was  as 
pleasant  as  unexpected.  He  had  the  rare  faculty  of 
hiding  his  secret  under  a  pleasant  jest,  and  of  illus- 
trating his  arguments  with  an  amusing'anecdote,  and  this 
faculty  came  into  play  on  many  occasions  during  his 
trip  to  Washington,  when  the  public  was  as  anxious  to 
learn  his  policy  as  he  was  to  conceal  it.  All  that  was 
unpleasant  in  the  public  reception  was  quite  forgotten 
in  his  bearing  at  this  social  function,  and  all  went  away 
delighted  with  his  good  humor,  his  jocular  talk  and 
the  facility  with  which  he  caught  the  temper  of  every 
group  with  which  he  conversed.  It  is  not  too  much  to 
say  that  all  were  dehghted  with  the  distinguished 
guest. 

Mr.  Lincoln  proceeded  to  Washington  and  received 
his  oath  of  office  from  the  venerable  Chief  Justice  Taney 
whose  decision  in  the  Dred  Scott  case  had  done  so 
much   to   intensify   the   anti-slavery   sentiment  of  the 

[23] 


North,  and  to  hasten  the  opening  of  the  temple  of  Janus. 
It  was  the  old  civilization  passing  its  torch  to  the  new. 

From  the  moment  of  Lincoln's  election  the  struggle 
which  followed  was  inevitable,  and  the  sooner  it  came 
the  more  easily  it  was  to  be  met,  and  the  more  nobly 
concluded.  True  liberty  is  always  aggressive  or  per- 
secuted, but  the  attack  is  generally  made  on  it  by  the 
power  that  is  to  be  crushed. 

Fort  Sumter  was  fired  upon  in  April,  1861,  and  the 
country  was  aroused  from  its  long  dream  of  peace. 
Then,  as  in  our  recent  war  with  Spain,  it  seemed  to  be 
with  the  nation  as  it  sometimes  is  with  the  household 
on  being  suddenly  aroused  from  a  peaceful  slumber: 
Some  of  the  members  are  apt  to  be  dazed  and  to  do 
some  very  foolish  things  before  they  are  wide  awake. 
Sooner  or  later,  however,  all  who  have  any  wits  manage 
to  resume  the  use  of  them  and  the  family  and  the  nation 
move  along  once  more  on  right  Hnes. 

At  one  of  the  most  critical  periods  in  our  Civil  War, 
when  the  hearts  of  the  bravest  stood  still  with  dread 
of  the  issue,  Mr.  Lincoln  reminded  the  Nation  that  "the 
dogmas  of  the  quiet  past  are  inadequate  to  the  stormy 

[24] 


present.  That  the  occasion  is  piled  high  with  difficulty 
and  we  must  rise  with  the  occasion.  As  our  cause  is  new, 
so  we  must  think  anew  and  act  anew.  We  must  dis- 
enthrall ourselves  and  then  we  shall  save  our  country." 

The  war  came  on  and  I  entered  the  army  the  day 
of  the  firing  on  Sumter.  After  a  service  of  two  or  three 
months  with  Rosecrans  and  McClellan  in  West  Vir- 
ginia, I  was  promoted  and  ordered  to  the  army  of  the 
Potomac,  which  I  joined  on  the  day  of  the  first  battle 
of  Bull  Run,  July  21,  1861. 

Stationed  in  and  near  the  city  of  Washington,  while 
official  duties  never  took  me  to  the  White  House,  I  saw 
much  of  Mr.  Lincoln  during  the  next  six  months,  for 
his  was  a  familiar  figure  at  receptions,  on  the  streets  of 
the  city,  in  the  grounds  around  the  White  House,  in 
the  hospitals,  and  in  the  neighboring  camps.  In  all 
the  hurly  burly  of  a  great  war  of  which  he  was  the  cen- 
tral figure  and  guiding  spirit  he  was  yet  the  same  gentle, 
genial,  modest,  patient,  humble  American  citizen  he 
had  ever  been. 

There  was  a  noble  dignity  about  the  man,  without 
any  assumed  superiority  which  so  often  marks  the  over- 

[25] 


elevation  of  a  small  soul.  He  rose,  not  above  his  place, 
but  to  it,  and  his  deportment  never  brought  discredit 
on  the  nation  whose  head  he  was. 

Early  in  his  official  life  he  became  well  known  for 
his  frequent  Httle  acts  of  helpful  ministry  to  the  poor 
and  distressed,  and  these  continued  until  the  end.  I 
was  witness  to  several  such,  but  let  reference  to  one 
suffice. 

One  day,  with  several  other  officers,  I  was  in  the 
office  of  the  Paymaster  General,  Colonel  Larned,  when 
the  President  came  in  escorting  an  old  lady,  who  from 
her  garb  and  general  appearance  must  have  been  very 
poor,  and  of  the  humblest  class. 

"Colonel,"  said  he  to  the  Paymaster  General,  "this 
is  Mrs.  Jones,  who  has  retained  me  to  look  after  a  claim 
she  has  for  the  back  pay  of  her  soldier  boy,  and  I  have 
come  over  to  see  about  it." 

"Well,  Mr.  President,"  said  Colonel  Larned,  "be 
seated,  and  I  will  send  a  clerk  to  look  the  matter  up, 
and  relieve  you  from  further  trouble." 

"Oh,  no,  that  won't  do,"  said  Mr.  Lincoln  pleasantly, 


[26] 


"1  must  see  to  this  myself,  as  she  is  my  client  for  the 
time  being." 

So  the  President  was  sent  to  another  room  with  a 
clerk,  the  old  lady  going  with  them. 

We  waited  their  return  to  see  the  outcome  of  the  mat- 
ter. In  a  little  while  they  returned,  when  on  an  in- 
quiry from  Colonel  Larned,  Mr.  Lincoln  said: 

"Yes,  Colonel,  that  is  all  right,  and  she  will  get  her 
money  tomorrow,  but,"  dropping  his  voice  and  holding 
his  hand  to  the  side  of  his  mouth,  he  continued  jocosely, 
**How  am  I  to  get  shut  of  the  old  lady.?" 

"That,  Mr.  President,  is  not  in  the  line  of  my  duty, 
and  I  fear  I  cannot  assist  you,"  was  the  response. 

"Well,  well,"  said  the  President,  "then  I'll  have  to 
manage   it   somehow." 

He  then  turned  to  the  group  of  officers  standing  near, 
and,  after  greeting  each  one  pleasantly,  he  said  to  the 
old  lady;  "Come  along.  Aunty,  let's  go  over  home," 
and  he  escorted  her  from  the  room,  down  the  stairway 
and  across  to  the  White  House  with  all  the  courtesy  due 
to  the  most  distinguished  lady,  chatting  familiarly 
with  her  by  the  way. 

[27] 


He  was  one  of  the  most  approachable  men  I  ever 
met  in  so  high  position.  On  one  occasion,  soon  after 
I  joined  the  Army  of  the  Potomac,  my  friend,  Major 
Fayette  Brown,  of  Cleveland,  and  myself  were  passing 
through  the  grounds  of  the  White  House  when  we  saw 
Mr.  Lincoln  standing  in  the  north  portico.  Major 
Brown,  by  the  way,  was  six  feet  three  inches  in  height. 
He  suggested  that  we  go  up  and  speak  to  the  President, 
which  we  did,  introducing  one  another.  The  Presi- 
dent's cordial  greeting  put  us  at  our  ease  at  once,  and 
he  talked  freely  and  pleasantly,  asking  about  some  of 
the  commands  across  the  river.  In  the  course  of  the 
conversation  Major  Brown  said:  "Mr.  President,  what 
is  your  height  ?" 

"When  I  let  myself  out,  this  way,"  said  he,  straight- 
ening himself  up,  "  I  am  six  feet  four  inches.  And  how 
tall  are  you,  Major  ?" 

"I  am  six  feet  three  inches,  Mr.  President,  and  I  as- 
sure you  it  is  a  great  pleasure  to  have  seen  one  President 
that  I  can  look  up  to." 

The  prompt  and  witty  response  greatly  amused  Mr. 
Lincoln,  who  laughed  heartily,  and  it  was  the  cause  of 

[28] 


securing  us  quite  frequent   recognition  by  him   after- 
wards, and  he  often  repeated  the  incident. 

Colonel  E.  D.  Baker,  who  had  been  an  officer  in  the 
Mexican  War,  and  who  was  then  a  Senator  in  Congress 
from  Oregon,  though  a  citizen  of  California,  and  the 
commander  of  a  regiment  of  volunteers  in  the  Army  of 
the  Potomac,  was  one  of  Mr.  Lincoln's  most  intimate 
friends  of  long  standing,  having  been  his  associate  at 
the  bar  and  on  the  stump  in  Illinois  for  many  years. 
He  was  a  handsome  man,  of  sturdy,  vigorous  frame  and 
fine  presence,  an  orator  of  note  and  one  of  the  most 
genial  and  popular  men  of  his  day — the  very  Hampden 
of  our  Civil  War.     He  is  always  intimately  associated 
in  my  memory  with  Mr.  Lincoln,  not  only  because  of 
their  close  friendship,  and  because  I  had  often  seen 
them  together,  but  because  I  saw  them  together  the 
last  time  they  met  in  this  life.    It  was  on  the  lawn  to  the 
northeast  of  the  White  House  one  beautiful  October 
afternoon  in    1861.     Mr.   Lincoln   sat  on   the   ground 
leaning  against  a  tree;  Colonel  Baker  was  lying  prone 
on  the    ground    his    head    supported    by    his    clasped 
hands.     The   trees   and   the   lawns  were   gorgeous   in 

[29] 


purple  and  crimson  and  scarlet,  like  the  curtains  of 
God's  tabernacle,  fitting  background  for  such  a  pic- 
ture. Near  by  was  Mr.  Lincoln's  son  Willie  who  died 
in  the  following  February.  The  child  was  tossing  the 
fallen  leaves  about  in  childish  grace  and  abandon. 
I  was  passing  through  the  grounds  with  a  friend, 
when,  seeing  the  group,  we  paused,  out  of  ear  shot, 
of  course,  to  study  the  picture  which  is  vividly  pho- 
tographed in  my  memory.  Their  conversation  was 
low  voiced,  earnest  and  serious.  No  indication  of 
merriment  was  visible,  which  was  noticeable,  because 
so  different  from  ordinary  conversations  in  which 
either  of  them  took  part.  The  pranks  of  the  child 
were  in  singular  contrast  with  the  subdued  and  serious 
demeanor  of  the  men.  While  we  stood  there.  Colonel 
Baker  arose,  took  the  President's  hand  and  bade  him 
adieu,  lifted  the  child  and  kissed  it,  and  went  to  his 
horse  which  was  held  by  an  orderly  on  the  avenue 
near  by,  mounted  and  rode  away.  The  President's 
gaze  followed  the  retiring  officer  until  he  disappeared 
to  the  West,  when  he  took  the  child  by  the  hand, 
and  slowly  and  sadly  returned  to  the  house. 

C30] 


You  may  naturally  inquire  what  there  was  in  so 
commonplace  a  tableau,  even  of  such  distinguished 
men  to  so  fix  it  in  the  memory.  It  was  the  fact  that 
on  the  following  day  Colonel  Baker  was  killed  at  the 
unfortunate  battle  of  Ball's  Bluff,  and  I  have  always 
imagined  that  their  conversation  was  of  that  battle 
and  its  possible  issue. 

The  death  of  Colonel  Baker  was  a  great  shock  to 
Mr.  Lincoln,  as  it  was,  in  fact,  to  the  whole  country, 
and  one  from  which  he  was  long  in  recovering,  but 
the  enormous  bloodshed,  suffering  and  disaster  of 
the  succeeding  twelvemonth  took  away  all  sense  of 
personal  loss  and  private  grief  from  one  who  constantly 
bore  the  nation's  griefs  and  burdens. 

While  I  was  in  the  Army  of  the  Potomac  in  1861, 
I  was  nominated  and  elected  Secretary  of  State  of 
Ohio,  on  the  Union  Ticket  with  Governor  Tod.  Our 
ticket  that  year  received  the  unprecedented  majority 
of  55,000.  Mr.  Lincoln's  majority  the  previous  year 
had  been  but  21,000.  I  had  gone  to  the  War  Depart- 
ment late  in  the  evening  of  election  day  to  hear  what 
news  had   been  received   of    the  Ohio  election  and  to 


give  the  news  I  had  received.  While  I  was  there, 
Mr,  Lincoln  came  in.  He  had  heard  the  news  from 
Ohio  and  was  in  great  good  humor.  He  seemed 
to  keep  his  eye  and  thought  on  every  battlefield, 
whether  the  weapons  used  were  bullets  or  ballots, 
well  knowing  that  the  results  of  either  contest  was  of 
vital  moment  to  the  great  struggle  which  was  in  progress. 
I  never  saw  him  in  such  excellent  spirits  before,  or 
after.  This  was  the  first  important  election  that  had 
been  held  since  the  war  began,  or  since  his  own  elec- 
tion, and  he  had  looked  to  its  results  with  great  interest 
as  indicating  the  temper  of  the  people  toward  his 
administration. 

He  had  much  to  say  of  Ohio,  her  soldiers,  her  Gov- 
ernor (Dennison)  and  her  steadfast  loyalty.  This  was 
before  Grant  and  Sherman  and  Sheridan  and  hundreds 
of  others  of  our  gallant  men  had  won  distinction. 

Two  years  later — October,  '63 — ^when  Lincoln  re- 
ceived the  word  that  John  Brough  had  defeated  Val- 
landigham  by  100,000  majority,  he  sent  his  memorable 
dispatch:  "Glory  to  God  in  the  highest!  Ohio  has 
saved  the  nation," 

[32] 


While  I  was  in  charge  of  Ohio  military  affairs  at 
Columbus,  as  Adjutant  General  of  the  State,  from 
January,  1864,  until  the  close  of  the  war,  I  had,  neces- 
sarily, more  frequent  intercourse  with  the  President 
when  visiting  Washington,  and  better  opportunity  to 
observe  what  manner  of  man  he  was. 

By  that  time,  however,  people  had  come  to  know 
him  better  and  to  appreciate  him  more  accurately. 
I  had  not  seen  him  from  the  latter  part  of  October, 
1861,  when  I  left  the  Army  of  the  Potomac  for  the 
West,  until  June,  1864,  when  Ohio  military  affairs 
called  me  to  Washington.  What  first  struck  me  in 
Mr.  Lincoln's  appearance  as  differing  from  what 
it  had  been  in  1861  was  that  he  had  aged  perceptibly 
and  far  more  than  two  and  a  half  years  would  ordi- 
narily produce.  The  lines  in  his  face,  marked  by 
fifty  years  of  patient  endurance,  were  deepened  by 
the  myriad  of  decisions  he  had  been  forced  to  make  in 
the  last  three  years.  But,  though  he  had  for  three 
years  filled  a  throne  great  as  that  of  any  king  or  kaiser, 
with  an  ease,  a  grace  and  a  dignity  which  became  him 
as  if  born  in  the  purple,  yet  his  plain,  homely  manner 

[33] 


was   unchanged   by   the   social   and   intellectual   attri- 
tion of  his  high  office. 

My  first  call  upon  the  President  in  1864  was  after 
his  second  nomination  and  soon  after  an  important 
aid  had  been  rendered  the  government  in  the  volun- 
tary offer  and  prompt  forwarding  of  a  large  contingent 
of  Ohio  troops  in  May,  1864,  to  which  he  referred 
with  considerable  enthusiasm  and  kindly  said  that  I 
had  contributed  substantially  to  that  work.  Alto- 
gether his  reception  was  most  cordial  and  gratifying. 

But  in  my  interview  then  and  every  time  I  saw 
him  afterwards,  I  was  saddened  with  the  thought 
that  his  load  was  almost  too  heavy  for  his  strength, 
and,  stalwart  and  vigorous  of  frame  though  he  was, 
that  he  was  liable  to  sink  under  it  at  any  moment. 
Yet  he  was  genial  as  ever,  despite  that  undertone  of 
melancholy  which  never  entirely  forsook  him.  Trained 
and  disciplined  in  the  school  of  privation,  and  de- 
veloped by  a  life  of  severest  toil,  a  continuance  of 
sorrow  and  trial  may  have  been  necessary  to  bring 
out  what  was  best  in  his  nature. 

He  talked  of  the  pending  political  campaign  with 

[34] 


great  intelligence  and  interest,  and  had  many  per- 
tinent inquiries  to  make  as  to  the  political  situation 
in  Ohio. 

His  anxiety  as  to  the  result  of  the  election,  however, 
seemed  less  on  his  own  account  than  because  of  the 
effect  his  defeat  might  have  on  the  issue  of  the  war. 

There  were  some  peculiar  circumstances  connected 
with  the  political  campaign  of  that  year  not  generally 
considered  by  historians  of  that  time,  and  I  allude 
to  them  here  because  I  had  served  with  McClellan  in 
West  Virginia  and  in  the  Army  of  the  Potomac  and  with 
Fremont  in  the  Shenandoah  Valley  and  had  very 
decided  opinions  as  to  the  military  qualifications  of 
both. 

The  fact  that  both  McClellan  and  Fremont  were 
candidates  against  Mr.  Lincoln  on  platforms  declaring 
the  war  a  failure  was  well  calculated  to  wound  his 
sensibilities  most  keenly,  though  I  never  heard  that 
he  referred  to  either  of  the  candidates  in  a  bitter  spirit. 

Fremont,  who  had  been  the  Republican  candidate 
in  1856  and  for  whose  election  Mr.  Lincoln  had  ren- 
dered yeoman  service,  and  for  whose  high  rank  in  the 

[35] 


army  he  was  indebted  to  Mr.  Lincoln,  had  allowed 
himself  to  be  made  the  candidate  of  a  handful  of 
Republican  malcontents  at  the  Cleveland  Conven- 
tion. He  had  said  many  bitter  things  about  Mr. 
Lincoln.     In  his  letter  of  acceptance  he  said: 

"I  consider  that  his  (Lincoln's)  administration  has 
been  politically,  militarily  and  financially  a  failure, 
and  that  its  necessary  continuance  is  a  cause  of  regret 
to  the   country." 

The  animus  of  Fremont's  attitude,  however,  was 
not  hard  to  find.  Mr.  Lincoln  was  unwillino-  to  take 
him,  as  a  military  man,  at  his  own  estimate,  and  that 
was  a  capital  offense  in  Fremont's  code. 

Talking  of  the  Fremont  movement  one  day  to  Gov- 
ernor Brough  and  myself,  Mr.  Lincoln  told  the  story 
of  two  newly-arrived  Irishmen  who  were  puzzled 
over  the  noise  of  a  tree  frog  and  sought  in  vain  to 
locate  its  source,  when  one  of  them  finally  said  to  the 
other:  "Come  off  wid  ye,  Pat;  sure,  an'  it's  nothing 
but  a  noise."  A  good  many  things  in  this  world  at 
which  timid  people  become  greatly  alarmed  are  found 
on  nearer  approach  to  be  mere  noise. 

[36] 


General  McClellan,  for  whom  Mr.  Lincoln  had 
risked  much  and  estranged  many  friends,  in  retaining 
him  at  the  head  of  the  army  long  after  the  country  had 
repudiated  him,  was  the  candidate  of  the  Democratic 
party  on  a  platform  the  chief  plank  in  which  was  the 
declaration  that  the  war  had  been  a  failure;  to  which 
alleged  failure,  by  the  way,  the  candidate  had  been 
chief  contributor.  Thus  two  men  for  whom  he  had 
done  much  and  suffered  much  and  who  with  every 
opportunity  and  unlimited  resources  had  signally 
failed,  were  arrayed  against  him. 

To  have  been  defeated  at  all  would  have  been  bad 
enough,  but  defeat  by  McClellan  would  have  been 
in  the  nature  of  a  personal  injury.  The  Fremont 
party  "petered  out,"  as  Mr.  Lincoln  expressed  it, 
long  before  the  election,  the  candidate  being  about  the 
last  member  of  the  aggregation  to  disappear,  but 
the  opposition  led  by  the  repudiated  commander  kept 
up  their  attack  to  the  last  moment,  when  in  the  final 
assault  the  leader  fell  outside  the  breastworks,  thus 
adding  one  more  to  his  unbroken  succession  of  defeats. 
Thus  did  the  American  people  confirm  in  unmistak- 

[37] 


able  terms  the  well-established  principle  that  no  man 
may  take  advantage  of  his  own  wrong. 

The  campaign  of  that  year  was  one  of  unexampled 
bitterness  and  Mr.  Lincoln's  exultation  over  his  re- 
election was  undisguised,  but  it  was  also  unselfish. 
The  man  who  could  forgive  a  personal  insult  was 
great  enough  to  put  self  aside  and  to  regard  the  success 
as  a  victory  of  the  Union  forces  and  a  declaration  of 
the  determination  of  the  people  to  stand  by  free  gov- 
ernment and   the  rights  of  humanity. 

When  the  secret  history  of  that  campaign,  on  v/hich 
hung  the  life  of  this  nation,  comes  to  be  written  in 
all  its  details  and  ramifications,  as  I  hope  it  never 
will  be  written,  it  will  reveal  a  conspiracy  of  such 
widespread  and  alarming  proportions  and  such  depths 
of  deceit,  infamy  and  cruelty  as  will  rouse  the  indig- 
nation of  every  true  patriot;  and  Mr.  Lincoln  was 
the  focal  point  of  the  whole  damnable  scheme,  and 
his  downfall  and   disgrace  its  sole  object. 

But,  thanks  to  that  Providence  which  has  never 
deserted  any  cause  which  makes  for  righteousness, 
Farragut   at    Mobile    Bay,    and    Sherman    at   Atlanta 

[38] 


changed  the  entire  aspect  of  things;  conspiracy  hid 
itself,  frightened  by  the  shouts  of  victory,  and  the 
Union  was  saved  long  before  the  final  scene  in  the 
great    tragedy    at    Appomattox. 

Mr.  Lincoln  had  a  rich  fund  of  humor,  and  during 
his  term  of  office  he  was  best  known  to  the  world  at 
large  for  his  droll  stories  and  humorous  but  forcible 
illustrations.  But  the  underlying  melancholy  which 
had  always  attended  him  was  intensified  by  the  tragic 
events  of  the  war,  and  was  to  me  most  pathetic. 

I  had  known  Mr.  Stanton,  Secretary  of  War,  from 
my  early  boyhood,  and,  when  in  Washington,  was 
frequently  in  his  office  at  the  War  Department,  where 
my  friend,  the  late  General  Anson  Stager  was  chief 
telegrapher.  I  was  there  one  evening  during  the  awful 
battle  summer  of  1864,  quite  late  and  had  been  shown 
some  dispatches  from  the  front  which  were  anything 
but  pleasant.  Near  midnight  we  heard  a  heavy, 
measured  step  ascending  the  stairs  and  coming  through 
the  hall  toward  the  open  door  of  the  office. 

"Stager,"  said  Stanton  in  his    quick,   nervous  way, 
"here    comes    the    President;    hide    those    dispatches 

[39] 


and  cook  up  something  not  quite  so  gloomy,  or  he  will 
not  sleep  tonight." 

Mr.  Lincoln  had  come  over  from  the  White  House 
entirely  alone  at  that  late  hour  to  find  comfort  from 
his  untiring  war  minister.  Under  the  encouragement 
of  a  doctored  telegram  he  became  quite  genial,  and 
after  a  Httle  pleasant  conversation  he  returned  home. 
"That,"  said  Mr.  Stanton,  to  me,  when  Mr.  Lincoln 
retired,    "is   almost  a   nightly  occurrence." 

The  next  time  I  saw  Mr.  Lincoln  was  in  April,  1865, 
and  he  was  in  his  coffin. 

The  day  of  his  assassination — Good  Friday,  day 
of  evil  omen — had  been  a  gala  day  all  over  the  country 
in  honor  of  the  fall  of  Richmond  and  the  surrender 
of  Lee.  The  day  was  an  ideal  one  for  such  rejoicings. 
The  display  was  very  elaborate,  and  joy  was  uncon- 
fined.  The  war  was  over  and  the  Union  saved.  Why 
should  not  the  people  rejoice?  At  Columbus,  where 
I  was  then  stationed,  the  evening  was  brilliant  w^ith 
illumination  and  bonfires;  jubilant  crowds  paraded 
the  streets,  and  the  city  sank  to  sleep  at  a  late  hour, 
happy  in  the  thought  of  the  new  era  of  peace  which 

[40] 


had  dawned.  There  was  no  premonition  of  the  dark 
cloud  which  had  even  then  settled  down  on  our  cause 
in  the  East,  or  of  the  night  of  horrors  through  which 
the  people  of  Washington  were  passing. 

The  next  morning  was  gloomy  and  wet,  but  I  was 
early  at  my  office.  The  gay  trappings  of  the  day 
before  hung  limp  and  faded  as  if  in  mockery  of  yes- 
terday's rejoicings,  I  had  been  at  my  desk  but  a  few 
moments  when  some  one  came  in  with  the  information 
that  Lincoln,  Seward,  Stanton  and  Grant  had  been 
assassinated;  that  Lincoln  was  dead  and  the  others 
would  die. 

For  the  first  time  in  the  past  four  busy  and  eventful 
years  I  lost  hope  and  broke  dov/n  utterly.  What 
did  this  forebode  ?  Was  yesterday  a  dream  ?  Had 
chaos  come  again  ? 

I  was  recalled  from  my  collapse  somewhat  rudely 
by  the  information  that  Rev.  Col.  Granville  Moody 
was  making  an  incendiary  speech  to  an  excited  crowd 
at  the  corner  of  State  and  High  Streets,  and  preaching 
bloody  reprisals.  I  sent  our  private  policeman,  Capt. 
Bernard    McCabe,   to   request   him   to   stop,   and   the 

[41] 


Colonel  sent  an  impertinent  reply.  I  then  directed 
his  arrest  and  that  he  be  brought  to  my  office,  which 
was  done,  and  none  too  soon,  for  he  was  a  celebrated 
hot  gospeller  and  rabble  rouser  and  had  wrought  the 
crowd  to  so  high  a  pitch  of  excitement  that  they  were 
about  ready  to  use  the  torch  and  the  rope.  The  most 
intense  excitement  everywhere  prevailed,  and  any 
sign  of  exultation  at  the  cruel  taking  off  of  the  nation's 
idol  would  have  met  with  summary  punishment,  so 
that  I  had  enough  to  do  to  keep  me  from  brooding 
over  the  terrible  disaster. 

I  allude  to  Mr.  Lincoln's  death  in  order  to  mention 
his  funeral  obsequies  of  which,  by  virtue  of  my  office, 
I  had  general  charge  from  the  Pennsylvania  line  to  the 
Indiana  line;  that  is,  while  the  remains  of  the  President 
were  in  the  state  of  Ohio.  Elaborate  preparations 
were  made  at  Cleveland  and  Columbus  for  the  recep- 
tion of  the  funeral  escort,  and  to  enable  the  people 
to  view  the  remains.  At  Cleveland  the  body  lay  in 
state  on  a  catafalque  erected  for  the  purpose  in  the 
public  square  near  where  the  Perry  monument  then 


[42] 


stood.     At    Columbus    they   were    exposed    upon    the 
catafalque  in  the  rotunda   of  the   Capitol. 

Our  party  left  Cleveland  for  the  East  in  the  early 
morning  and  met  the  funeral  train  at  the  Eastern 
State  line  about  sunrise.  The  train  was  black  robed 
throughout,  and  the  funeral  car  contained  the  remains 
of  Mr.  Lincoln  and  those  of  his  son  Willie  who  died 
two  years  before.  The  train  was  drawn  by  the  engine 
"Union,"  the  same  which  had  drawn  the  train  which 
carried  Mr.  Lincoln  to  Washington  four  years  before. 
As  we  sped  along  westward  in  the  early  spring  morning 
tearful  groups  of  men,  women  and  children  were 
gathered  by  the  roadside,  some  clad  in  mourning, 
some  holding  flags  draped  in  black.  Flags  were  at 
half  mast  in  all  the  villages  and  in  farmyards,  and  the 
people  were  massed  at  the  stations.  At  Cleveland 
and  Columbus  immense  crowds  thronged  the  streets 
and  passed  to  view  the  remains.  At  Columbus,  the 
State  House  was  elaborately  draped  and  along  the 
west  facade  were  displayed  those  memorable  words 
from  Lincoln's  Second   Inaugural  Address  which  had 


[43] 


been  the  keynote  of  his  whole  official  life:  "With 
malice  toward  none,  with  charity  for  all." 

The  beautiful  rotunda  of  the  State  House  was  trans- 
formed into  a  gorgeous  tomb,  but  we  had  studiously 
avoided  any  effort  at  mere  display.  Everything  was 
simple  and  beautiful  in  arrangement  as  became  the 
character  of  him  for  whom  it  was  a  memorial. 

Never  in  our  previous  history  had  such  crowds 
assembled,  yet  there  was  a  solemn  hush  over  all  in- 
dicative of  the  strong  hold  this  plain  westerling  had 
upon  the  hearts  of  the  people.  Each  one  had  lost  a 
friend  and  all  spoke  with  a  sense  of  personal  grief. 
Not  less  than  fifty  thousand  persons  viewed  the  re- 
mains at  Columbus,  and  probably  as  many  more  did 
so  at  Cleveland. 

The  closing  scene  at  Columbus  was  of  such  impress- 
ive solemnity  that  I  hesitate  to  attempt  a  description. 

The  westerly  sun  seemed  to  shed  a  peculiar  glory 
and  bathed  the  city  in  golden  radiance.  The  mourn- 
ing crowds  had  departed  and  none  remained  in  or 
about  the  Capitol  save  the  few  who  had  there  a  duty 
to  perform.     A  group  of  ladies,  chosen  for  that  purpose, 

[44] 


entered  the  rotunda  and  sat  for  a  short  time  beside 
the  catafalque  in  tearful  silence.  The  guard  of  honor, 
which  never  left  the  remains,  kept  up  their  faithful 
vigil,  walking  with  solemn  tread  about  the  platform. 
A  halo  of  the  golden  sunlight  filtered  through  the 
summit  of  the  dome,  and  hung  above  the  silent  group 
beneath  Hke  a  benediction.  The  evening  shadows 
were  gathering  in  the  corridors  and  creeping  stealth- 
ily up  the  stairways,  when  in  an  oppressive  silence. 
Governor  Brough  and  myself  with  a  few  others  entered 
the  rotunda  through  the  eastern  arch,  and,  with  the 
guard  of  honor  and  the  attending  ladies,  followed  the 
remains  from  the  Capitol  to  the  grounds  without.  As 
the  silent  procession  emerged  through  the  western 
door  of  the  State  House  a  band  played  "Old  Hundred,'* 
a  national  salute  was  fired,  the  remains  were  conveyed 
to  the  funeral  car,  and,  as  the  sun  sank  from  sight 
in  the  west  the  train  passed  from  the  city. 

The  route  from  Columbus  to  Richmond,  Indiana, 
was  traversed  in  the  night,  but  that  did  not  prevent 
the  tributes  of  honor.  Bonfires  and  torch-lights  were 
continuous,    and    symbols    of  mourning   were    every- 

[45] 


where  displayed.  At  Urbana  three  thousand  persons 
were  at  the  station.  The  train  was  stopped  for  a  few 
minutes  and  ten  young  ladies  entered  the  car  and 
strewed  flowers  on  the  martyr's  coffin.  One  of  the 
ladies  was  so  affected  that  she  wept  aloud  in  great 
anguish. 

On  the  outside  a  platform  had  been  erected  on  which 
was  a  choir  of  forty  voices,  men  and  women,  repre- 
senting all  the  city  churches,  who  sang  with  touching 
melody,  "Go  to  thy  rest." 

At  Piqua,  which  was  reached  at  midnight,  ten 
thousand  were  assembled.  Here  lamps,  torches  and 
bonfires  ht  up  the  night.  The  depot  was  elaborately 
illuminated,  bands  from  Troy  and  Piqua  played  appro- 
priate music,  and  a  large  choir  from  the  churches  of 
the  city  led  by  Rev.  Granville  Moody,  sang  a  funeral 
hymn,  which  was  followed  by  a  choir  of  thirty-six 
ladies  in  white  costumes  and  black  sashes,  who  sang 
a  plaintive  melody  which  touched  the  hearts  of  all 
who  heard  it. 

At  Richmond,  Indiana,  which  was  reached  at  three 
o'clock  on  Sunday,  not   less  than  ten  thousand  people 

[46] 


assembled.  There  our  party  left  the  train,  and  it 
sped  on  its  way  to  Indianapolis  and  Chicago,  and 
to  his  final  restingplace  in  the  home  he  loved  so 
well. 

The  mortal  part  of  Abraham  Lincoln  rests  in  an 
honored  tomb  which  will  be  long  remembered,  but  the 
memory  of  his  high  statesmanship,  wise  above  com- 
parison and  as  openly  faithful  as  any  in  this  age  has 
witnessed,  will  live  in  Anglo-Saxon  hearts,  not  only 
as  the  best  example  of  what  our  race  can  attain,  but 
as  an  encouragement  to  the  lowest  and  most  obscure 
that  the  highest  and  the  best  is  attainable. 

No  American  since  Washington  is  so  enshrined 
in  the  hearts  of  the  people  as  is  Mr.  Lincoln.  And 
it  grows  out  of  no  mere  sentimental  or  official  respect. 
They  know  in  whom  they  believed,  and  their  affec- 
tion is  genuine  and  will  be  lasting. 

Yet,  great  as  is  that  affection  he  merited  it  all  by 
his  manly  character,  his  masterful  conduct  of  affairs, 
the  tenor  of  his  life,  which  was  pure  and  noble,  his 
integrity  which  was  thorough  and  incorruptible.  His 
mind  and  heart  were  broad  and  generous  as  the  vast 

C47] 


prairies  of  his  Western  home,  true  and  sturdy  as  its 
oaks  and   gentle  as  its  flowers. 

Environed  in  his  high  office  by  cant  and  affecta- 
tion, he  was  simple,  unaffected,  true. 

Thwarted  and  embarrassed  by  blunderers  he  sel- 
dom   made    a    mistake. 

He  was  firm  in  character,  comprehensive  in  act, 
and  wise  in  a  policy  so  rarely  tempered  that  it  could 
at  once  conciliate  and  command. 

One  of  the  mildest  and  most  peace-loving  of  men, 
yet  it  was  his  to  be  the  leader  of  the  most  extensive 
and   desolating  civil  war  in  history. 

It  is  interesting  in  this  connection  to  notice  that 
one  of  the  leading  delegates  in  the  Parliament  of 
Peace  at  the  Hague,  stated  before  that  Parliament 
that  it  was  the  action  of  Mr.  Lincoln  in  drawing  up  a 
code  of  rules  of  war  for  the  Union  armies  which  prompt- 
ed Alexander  H,  the  then  Czar  of  Russia  to  propose 
the  Brussels  conference  at  the  Hague,  of  which  the 
recent  conference  was  but  the  sequel.  So  that  Mr. 
Lincoln's  action  was  the  initial  effort  to  make  war, 
which    Napoleon    called    the    science    of   barbarians, 

[48] 


more  humane,  and  to  elevate  it  above  a  mere  death 
struggle  of  wild  beasts. 

In  all  the  many  and  diverse  qualities  that  go  to 
make  up  character,  Lincoln  was  a  thoroughly  genuine 
man.  His  sense  of  justice  was  perfect,  ever  present 
and  all  controlling.  His  integrity  was  second  to  none; 
his  ambition  was  stainless,  and  from  his  mental  cru- 
cible came  no  dross  or  slag,  but  only  the  pure  gold 
of  principle. 

In  the  midst  of  doubt  he  was  clear. 

Sincere  and  straightforward,  he  was  never  ill-timed 
or  blunt. 

He  never  sought  to  create  public  sentiment;  he 
embodied  it,  for  he  walked  hand  in  hand  with  the 
common  people  who  loved  him  and  trusted  him  as 
he  did  them,  for  he  was  one  of  them. 

He  was  a  statesman  in  that  he  was  able  to  discover 
the  trend  of  events  and  to  shape  the  course  of  national 
affairs  in  harmony  therewith.  He  knew  his  country 
and  his  time,  for  he  held  his  finger  on  the  Nation's 
pulse  and  he  both  heard  and  saw. 

Such  men  as  Mr.  Lincoln  represent  the  conscience 

[49] 


of  a  people,  inchoate  it  may  be  for  a  time,  but  when 
that  conscience  is  developed  and  perfected,  in  pro- 
portion as  they  are  held  in  honor  is  a  people  fully 
cognizant  of  their  representative  character  and  all 
that  it  implies. 

He  destroyed  human  slavery  under  the  stars  and 
stripes,  an  object  for  v^hich  men  who  seemed  far  better 
equipped — so  different  are  God's  ways  from  ours — 
had  long  sought  in  vain. 

That  historical  state  paper  which  spoke  freedom 
to  a  race  closed  with  these  impressive  words  which 
sound  like  the  deliverance  of  an  inspired  prophet  of 
the  old  Theocracy: 

"Upon  this  act,  sincerely  believed  to  be  an  act  of 
justice,  warranted  by  the  Constitution,  upon  mili- 
tary necessity,  I  invoke  the  considerate  judgment 
of  mankind  and  the  gracious  favor  of  Almighty  God." 

The  "gracious  favor  of  Almighty  God"  came 
promptly,  because,  on  January  i,  1863,  when  that 
proclamation  was  made,  though  the  road  was  yet  long 
and  bloody  and  thickly  strewn  with  dead  men,  yet 
Appomattox  lay  at  the  end  and  was  even  then  in  sight. 

[50] 


Slavery  was  vital  to  the  Southern  cause,  and  Mr. 
Lincoln  struck  the  Confederacy  in  its  most  vital  part. 
He  formulated  the  great  principle  of  Emancipation 
as  a  political  doctrine,  and  wrought  it  into  our  national 
fabric,  where  it  will  endure  while  the  nation  lives. 

That  emancipation  was  not  a  mere  sentiment,  but 
that  he  had  the  fact  very  near  his  heart  is  evidenced 
by  his  Fourth  Annual  Message,  in  December,  1864, 
in  which  he  used  this  significant  language:  "I  repeat 
the  declaration  made  a  year  ago,  that  'while  I  remain 
in  my  present  position  I  shall  not  attempt  to  retract 
or  modify  the  emancipation  proclamation,  nor  shall  I 
return  to  slavery  any  person  who  is  free  by  the  terms 
of  that  proclamation,  or  by  any  of  the  acts  of  Congress.' 
"If  the  people  should,  by  whatever  mode  or  means, 
make  it  an  executive  duty  to  re-enslave  such  persons 
another  and  not  I  must  be  their  instrument  to  enforce 


It. 


I  have  no  doubt  he  had  Emancipation  in  his  mind 
and  purpose  the  moment  Sumter  was  fired  upon,  but 
no  man  knew  so  well  as  he  did  how  to  bide  his  time. 
He  never  spoke  or  acted  too  early  or  too  late.     He 

[51] 


was  constantly  importuned  by  enthusiasts  to  declare 
emancipation  and  was  denounced  because  he  would  not. 
He  was  unmoved  by  clamor,  adverse  criticism  or  abuse, 
even  though  it  threatened  the  rupture  of  valued  friend- 
ships, and  the  loss  of  powerful  influences  on  which 
he  had  come  to  rely  in  support  of  his  policies. 

To  have  proclaimed  freedom  to  the  slave  at  the 
beginning  would  have  been  fatal  to  our  cause.  To  have 
proclaimed  it  after  the  battle  of  Bull  Run,  even,  would 
have  been  disastrous. 

It  would  no  doubt  have  drawn  away  from  us  the 
border  states  of  Maryland,  Kentucky  and  Missouri 
where  the  secession  element  really  predominated. 
Furthermore,  that  large  element  at  the  North  which 
opposed  emancipation,  some  on  principle  and  some  be- 
cause they  thought  the  time  had  not  yet  come,  would 
in  all  probability  have  refused  its  support  of  the 
Union  cause  at  a  time  when  we  were  barely  holding 
our  own. 

But  above  all  was  the  fact,  ever  present  in  Mr. 
Lincoln's  mind,  as  his  speeches  and  papers  abund- 
antly attest,   notably  his  letter  to   Mr.   Greeley,   that 

[52] 


the  war  was  being  waged  primarily  to  restore  the 
Union  and  to  settle  the  right  of  secession.  If  slavery 
were  made  the  primary  issue,  as  it  would  have  been 
by  a  too  early  proclamation  of  emancipation,  no  mat- 
ter what  the  result  of  the  war,  the  question  of  secession 
would  have  been  unsettled,  and  might  come  up  at  some 
future  time  to  give  us  trouble.  By  holding  to  his 
original  purpose  and  making  all  other  questions,  no 
matter  how  vital,  secondary,  the  contest  once  settled 
the  question  of  the  right  of  secession  would  be  settled 
for  all  times. 

The  pressure  which  was  brought  to  bear  upon  him 
to  force  him  to  declare  freedom  to  the  slaves  in  ad- 
vance of  his  own  judgment  as  to  the  proper  time  was 
tremendous,  and  would  have  compelled  almost  any  one 
else  to  yield.  This  pressure  all  came  from  white  men, 
politicians  and  others.  Those  who  were  most  vitally 
interested — the  negroes  in  slavery — ^were  the  least 
impatient.  Their  confidence  in  Mr.  Lincoln  was 
sublime  in  its  degree,  touching  in  its  simplicity.  One 
of  them  expressed   the   general  feeling  thus: 

"Pretty   soon   we    shall   be    free.     We    don't   know 

[53] 


just  when,  but  the  good  Lord  and  Massa  Lincoln 
know,  and  they  will  tell  us  in  their  own  good  time." 

When  asked  if  they  were  not  impatient  at  the  delay, 
an  old  saint  in  ebony,  on  a  Virginia  plantation,  said 
to  me,  "Oh,  no;  of  course  Massa  Lincoln  knows  best." 

But  Mr.  Lincoln  was  led  by  circumstances  and  not 
by  impulse.  His  unerring  judgment  selected  the  proper 
time  to  speak,  and  he  erected  that  moral  breastwork 
without  which  he  dare  not  hope  for  "the  gracious 
favor  of  Almighty  God,"  but  behind  which  our  cause 
was  safe,  and  to  the  dumb,  dark  millions  who  had 
waited  so  long,  so  patiently  and  so  uncomplainingly, 
the  hour  came  at  last  when  the  glad  evangel  of  Freedom 
broke  the  long,  sad  silence  of  their  night  of  wrong,  and 
made  victory  possible. 

Mr.  Lincoln  was  a  good  man,  a  God-fearing  man; 
honest,  temperate,  forgiving,  long-suffering,  self-sacri- 
ficing. 

I  care  little  what  may  have  been  his  creed,  for  I 
know  what  his  character  was,  and  that  is  a  far  better 
standard  than  any  mere  formula  of  words  can  be. 
He  believed  in  the  Fatherhood  of  God  and  the  Brother- 

[54] 


hood    of   man.     His   sermons   were   deeds   of  helpful 
ministry  and  his  life  exemplified  his  faith. 

If  it  be  true,  as  I  believe  it  is,  that  character  and 
service  and  a  true  sense  of  the  law  of  stewardship 
are  the  only  convincing  evidences  of  the  possession  of 
a  religious  spirit,  then  was  Mr.  Lincoln  a  religious 
man  in   the   true   sense. 

He  never  spoke  unkindly  of  any  one,  not  even 
of  traitors  in  arms,  or  of  assassins  plotting  against 
his  life.  To  one  who  said  to  him,  a  few  Idays  before 
his  death,  speaking  of  Jefferson  Davis:  "Do  not  allow 
him  to  escape  the  laws;  he  must  be  hanged,"  Mr. 
Lincoln  repHed  calmly,  "Judge  not,  that  ye  be  not 
judged." 

He  possessed  in  an  unusual  degree  that  rare  nobiUty 
of  soul  that  places  a  man  above  all  petty,  personal 
feeling,  and  which  belongs  not  to  rank  and  title  but 
to  integrity  and  worth. 

It  is  scarcely  possible  to  exaggerate  his  worth, 
his  sagacity,  his  remarkable  genius.  His  state  papers 
abound  in  language  of  classic  beauty  and  are  instinct 
with  rare  common  sense,  with  shrewd  but   profound 

[55] 


wisdom  and  lofty  thought.  They  were  great  because 
the  writer's  great  soul  was  in  every  utterance,  and 
his  soul  was  a  temple  to  which  great  thoughts  came 
to  worship  and  his  speech  was  a  magic  wand  which 
swayed  the  hearts  of  men  as  the  tempest  sways  the 
trees  of  the  forest. 

He  was  a  man  without  vices  of  habit  or  speech. 
Few  men  in  the  annals  of  the  race  have  been  as  thorough- 
ly tested;  tested  by  opposition,  by  slander,  by  ridicule; 
yet  he  bore  no  malice,  remembered  no  abuse,  showed 
no  vindictiveness. 

His  last  official  act  was  in  the  afternoon  of  that 
fateful  Friday  when,  learning  that  two  of  the  promi- 
nent leaders  of  the  RebeUion  were  to  arrive  in  disguise 
at  one  of  the  principal  ports  hoping  to  escape  to  Europe, 
he  instructed  his  officers  not  to  arrest  them,  but  to 
let  them  escape  from  the  country.  He  did  not  thirst 
for  their  blood,  though  in  a  few  hours,  one  of  their 
associates  took  his  Hfe  in  the  most  cruel  and  dastardly 
manner. 

At  the  very  moment  when  his  mind  was  busy  matur- 
ing plans  of  reconstruction  and  his  heart  was  yearning 

[56] 


for  reconciliation  and  anxious  to  forgive,  the  treacher- 
ous blow  fell.  It  only  lacked  the  deep  damnation 
of  his  taking-off  to  fill  the  cup  of  the  iniquity  of  slavery 
to  the  full  and  to  make  that  accursed  institution  the 
horror  of  our  history. 

In  raising  a  flag  above  Independence  Hall  in  Phila- 
delphia in  February,   1861,  he  said: 

"It  was  something  in  the  Declaration  of  Inde- 
pendence giving  liberty,  not  only  to  the  people  of  this 
country,  but  hope  to  the  world  for  all  coming  time. 
It  is  that  which  gives  promise  that  in  due  time  the 
weights  should  be  Hfted  from  the  shoulders  of  all  men 
and  that  all  should  have  an  equal  chance. 

*j*  ^4  ^*  *^ 

"Now,  my  friends,  can  this  country  be  saved  upon 
that  basis  ?  If  it  can,  I  will  consider  myself  one  of 
the  happiest  men  in  the  world  if  I  can  help  to  save  it. 
But  if  this  country  can  not  be  saved  without  giving  up 
that  principle,  I  was  about  to  say  that  I  would  rather 
be  assassinated  upon  the  spot  than  to  surrender  it.  I 
have  said  nothing  but  what  I  am  willing  to  live  by 
and  if  it  be  the  pleasure  of  Almighty  God,  to  die  by." 

[57] 


To  a  delegation  urging  emancipation,  he  said: 
"When  the  time  comes  for  dealing  with  slavery  I 
trust  I  shall  be  willing  to  do  my  duty  though  it 
costs  me  my  life.  And,  gentlemen,  lives  w411  be 
lost." 

Did  he  then  have  the  dark  shadow^  of  his  cruel 
death  hovering  in  his  mind  ?  If  he  had,  he  shrank 
not  from  the  sacrifice  but  marched  with  calm  and  steady 
pace  to  meet  it.  The  drama  of  history  presents  no 
scene  more  impressive  in  its  tragedy  than  that  which 
was  enacted  at  Ford's  Theater,  Washington,  on  the 
night  of  April  15,   1865. 

Althoush  he  fell  a  victim  of  the  bullet  of  an  assassin 
by  as  foul  a  murder  as  ever  disfigured  the  annals 
of  our  civilization,  I  doubt  if,  in  his  entire  career, 
checkered  as  it  was  and  passed  among  a  primitive 
people,  and  in  the  rude  life  of  the  frontier,  he  ever 
made  a  personal  enemy. 

He  was  stricken,  not  for  anything  in  his  own  per- 
sonality, but  because  he  was  the  exponent  of  the  great 
principle  of  national  and  personal  freedom  and  the 
beloved  representative  of  a  loyal  people. 

[58] 


Truly  did  he  live  "with  malice  toward  none,  with 
charity  for  all." 

His  life  illustrates  the  important  fact,  too  often  lost 
sight  of,  that  the  reputation  which  endures  is  built 
by  the  man  himself  and  not  by  censorious  critics.  But 
he  lived  long  enough  to  receive  the  consolation  of 
success  though  it  came  so  late  as  to  prove  but  a  setting 
glory.  Since  his  death,  however,  his  former  unfriendly 
critics  have  become  his  eulogists,  his  libellers  have 
become  his  admirers  and  his  enemies  his  worshippers. 
The  world's  verdict  if  slow  is  very  apt  to  be  just. 
Careless  of  monument  over  his  grave,  he  builded  it 
in  the  world;  a  monument  by  which  we  are  taught 
to  remember,  not  where  he  died,  but  where  he  lived. 

History  never  embalmed  a  reputation  more  spot- 
less, or  more  sacred,  and  it  has  already  done  justice 
to  his  name  while  it  is  yet  fresh  in  living  memories. 
As  his  homely  figure  recedes  and  rises  into  history, 
we  shall  see  yet  more  clearly  the  grandeur  and  dignity 
of  its  proportions,  and  it  is  not  too  much  to  say  that 
future  generations  will  recognize  in  him  the  central 
figure  of  the  nineteenth  century  in  American  history. 

[59] 


Looking  at  the  character  and  the  career  of  this  man 

■1 

from  the  standpoint  of  this  later  day,  when  a  genera- 
tion has  passed  since  his  death  and  almost  a  century 
has  passed  since  his  birth,  when  time  has  clarified 
the  vision  and  ripened  the  judgment,  w^e  are  able  to 
realize  that  no  man  in  our  history  has  gone  so  far  as 
he  in  securing  and  holding  the  kind  of  fame  com- 
pounded of  admiration  for  commanding  ability  and 
service  and  love,  for  tenderness  of  heart,  sweetness 
of  nature  and  beauty  of  spirit. 

Considering  his  circumstances  and  appearance,  there 
is  nothing  more  extraordinary  than  the  growing  ap- 
preciation of  certain  rare  beauty  in  his  character 
which,  now  that  the  misconception  and  passion  of  his 
day  have  passed,  throw  about  his  uncouth  figure  a 
soft  radiance. 

There  was  something  in  his  unique  personality 
which  evoked  a  tenderness  which  has  gone  out  to  no 
other  President.  We  not  only  revere  the  memory — 
we  love  the  man. 

His  largeness  of  vision;  so  much  broader  than 
those  with  whom  he  worked,  becomes  more  apparent 

[60] 


in  the  light  of  greater  events,  and  can  only  be  accounted 
for  in  his  greatness  of  soul.  The  intervening  years 
have  distilled,  as  it  were,  from  his  great  reputation, 
a  finer,  purer,  higher  fame. 

We  are  jarred,  sometimes  disgusted,  at  the  mean- 
ness to  which  public  men  stoop  in  the  strife  and  jealousy 
of  political  life,  which  can  only  waste  and  baffle  the 
strength  and  plans  of  real  statesmanship.  The  mag- 
nanimity, patience,  unselfishness  and  sanity  of  this 
man  set  him  apart  from  the  moral  egotists,  the  harsh 
radicals  and  the  complaisant  politicians  of  his  time. 

I  think  the  estimate  of  the  country  today  may  be 
briefly  stated  as  being  of  a  great,  tender,  human  soul, 
by  temperament  and  conditions,  solitary  perhaps, 
bearing  a  burden  of  sorrows,  not  his  own,  but  of  a 
whole  people;  called  to  rule  a  household,  widely  divided, 
though  still  a  household,  without  hatred  or  any  spirit 
of  strife,  but  with  a  heart  of  compassion  for  those  who 
opposed,  as  for  those  who  would  sustain. 

As  the  years  go  by  and  the  Blue  and  the  Gray  are 
equally  honored,  the  prescience  of  this  man  grows 
more  distinct.     Like  Moses,  he  died  without  the  sight 

[6i] 


of  the  promised  land,  yet  we  now  know  that  he  was  the 
inspired   prophet  of  a   future,   now   a   living  present. 

There  were  men  of  great  ability  about  Lincoln  in 
his  trying  hours — men  of  great  patriotism  as  the 
world  then  looked  upon  such  things,  and  their  services 
can  not  be  overlooked — but  he  stands  out  separate  and 
apart  from  all  by  reason  of  a  certain  largeness  they 
lacked,  which  we  did  not  perceive  at  the  time. 

Now  that  the  old  feelings,  animosities  and  passions 
are  dead,  those  who  opposed  him,  as  well  as  those  who 
sustained  him,  have  joined  in  the  acclaim,  and  hail  him 
as  the  "First  American." 

•^  3p  il*  5p  ^p 


[62] 


The  final  result  of  the  deadly  assault  on  the  life 
of  the  Nation  in  1861,  so  horrible  in  appearance  at 
the  outset,  was  a  confirmation  of  our  greatness;  a 
trial  of  our  strength;  a  punishment  of  our  sham  pre- 
tenses, and  the  establishment  in  our  hands  forever  of 
the  leadership  in  the  political  progress  and  freedom 
of  the   world. 

Now,  with  a  united  country  we  join  in  a  holy  com- 
pact to  stand  as  the  exemplar  and  champion  of  justice 
and  mercy  the  world  around.  And  the  crimson  of  the 
blood  that  has  sealed  this  covenant  imparts  a  richer 
hue  to  our  banner  of  beauty  and  glory  which  has  risen 
as  a  new  aurora  in  the  distant  islands  of  the  sea,  a 
very    evangel    of   liberty. 

Who  dare  say,  in  the  light  of  today,  that  a  single 
soldier  of  that  mighty  host,  from  commander-in-chief 
to  drummer  boy,  died  in  vain  ? 


[the    end] 


[63] 


■;\'' 


